First Impression, Worst Impression
by CookieCollabs
Summary: Arthur goes to a party and Alfred tells a story about his brother, Matthew. Arthur becomes interested, and tricks Alfred into thinking he was attracted to him, and not Matthew. But what happens if he ends up falling for Alfred, and  *click to read more*


Title: First Impression, Worst Impression (1/?)  
>Author: Alfie<br>Rating: K+  
>Summary: Arthur goes to a party and Alfred tells a story about his brother, Matthew. Arthur becomes interested, and tricks Alfred into thinking he was attracted to him, and not Matthew. But what happens if he ends up falling for Alfred, and not the one he had aimed for? Onesided UKCan Eventual USUK<p>

A/N: Trying a new writing style whilst procrastinating over a project worth 40% of my grade that's due tomorrow. Everything I touch turns into a multific. And yet I never finish the ones I start.

Laughter fills the relaxed air of the party as a tall, Southern blonde tells yet another one of his lame jokes to the crowd. Lame coming from the opinion of a stuck-up, sober Englishman and his tipsy, not-so-sober Spanish partner. Arthur Kirkland sneers, a possessive arm wrapped around the waist of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who was giggling to himself about the supposed turtles crawling up along the wall of the main room.

Arthur stares ahead at the boy—man?—standing on the table placed in the middle of the room, making silly hand gestures as he speaks of a tale that even Arthur wouldn't believe. And then man believed in faeries, for crying out loud. Who was this guy, anyway? Some American coming over to visit—more like, an American visiting in another of the country of the United States. That's right. _Arthur _was the one visiting, not the ditsy, tall man in the centre of the room.

"…so I said, 'where's the cheese'?" he exclaims, causing the entire room to erupt in more annoying laughter. The Brit rolls his eyes, tightening his grip around Antonio's hip when the Spaniard giggles again. "It's not funny," Arthur mutters into his ear, so as to make sure he could hear him. But Antonio merely laughs, nuzzling his cheek and clinging to his side.

"Looooook!" the Spanish man cries, pointing to somewhere over to his right—probably the wall—and trying to gain Arthur's attention again. "Tuuuurtles!"

The Brit clears his throat, nodding with fake and poorly masked interest. "Mmhmm," he grumbles, glancing at the man in his arms and then back at the blonde on the table, who was starting to sit down on the edge of it instead of standing. He continues to make his silly gestures, although his voice was getting louder, to the point of Arthur being able to hear what he was talking about.

"I have this friend over in Texas, y'know? 's a real cool dude!" The sandy-blonde chuckles, swaying his legs as he talks, a glint in his sapphire eyes that Arthur can't quite depict. "Well, he told me he wished he could come, but the dude got into this accident on the way over a few days ago and now he's in the hospital and shit, 'kay? Well, the dude is my bro and all, and I was kind of hopin' you guys would listen to the story… I haven't shared it with anyone yet, but I trust ya guys with it."

About an hour later, a majority of the crowd sits there and wipes away their overflowing tears, moved by the American's story of his brother and his crashing accident while on the road a few nights ago. "So." The blonde—Alfred Jones was his name, Arthur found out in the middle of the story—stretches his legs out, giving the now quiet party a small smile. "I'm glad ya guys actually stuck around and listened. Real thankful, I am. It'd be cool and stuff if any of ya could help pay for his hospital bill 'cause I don't got the money since I quit my job last month."

Sprawled out on the couch off to the other side of the room was Antonio, who was dozing off in his drunken stupor, mumbling happily about Arthur and turtles and the like. Arthur passes him just one glance, and sighs, standing up as the crowd leaves, granting each other goodbyes and filing out through the entrance door. The only ones left were Alfred, Arthur, and Antonio—but the Spaniard was nowhere near of his waking point, so it was more or less like it was only the first two.

"I saw ya over there in the corner," Alfred spoke up, glancing at Antonio, and then at Arthur, who was sipping on a beer he had opened earlier into the tall tale of Alfred's brother. The Englishman looks up, a little startled that the American had even dared to speak to him. "Were ya listenin'? Ya seemed pretty interested, y'know."

"Was not," Arthur mumbles, taking a look up at the other blonde from beneath his messy bangs—he should cut them soon, he thinks off to the side—and sneering when he catches the bright smile stretched across Alfred's face. "What's with that look?" he hisses, resisting the urge to wince when he notices the harshness of his own tone of voice.

Alfred shrugs, kicking at the carpet laid out in the centre of his living room. "I dunno," he says, quietly, suddenly becoming shy. "I was just wonderin' if ya were interested in helpin' out." He looks up from his sudden interest in his shoes, blue eyes filled with alarm at his own words—or mannerisms, Arthur thinks—and exclaims, "I'm not expectin' anythin' from you, I was just wonderin' if ya were!"

A little surprised, Arthur shakes his head, grimacing. He wants to go home, but at this point, he can't find the words to tell him so. "I suppose I was just a tad interested in the story of your brother," he replies. "Was the accident as bad as you made it sound, or are you an over exaggerator?"

"No… I'm not." The tall American shakes his head, grin clear on his face and making Arthur wish he could just smack it right off of his wonderful face. "I really meant it, y'know. He needs real bad therapy and shit and I don't have the money for it."

The Brit considers this, rolling the idea in his head as if actually wondering if he would help him out. The boy Alfred had described earlier in his story seemed like a kind lad, and he was possibly willing to help him out with this surgery or therapy or what ever the hell he had mentioned. "…all right."

"Huh?" Alfred looks up, genuine surprise in his bright, sapphire eyes. "Whaddya mean by that?"

"I'll help out."

"Really?"

_I can't say no when you have such a wounded brother, and when you're such a kind kid, you idiot, _Arthur wants to say, but that would come off creepy, and it's obvious he doesn't want that to happen. Of course not; no. That would be the worst first impression ever.


End file.
